


Chance Encounters

by Ladybug_21



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: The Phantom encounters Éponine Thénardier on the streets of Paris one night, and schemes and romances blossom. Mostly musical-based.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings in this fan fic.
> 
> Originally published on FanFiction.net on July 15, 2007.

A fine mist wound its way through the dark Parisian streets. Street lamps cast ribbons of white light across the damp walkways, dark alleyways seemed to swallow even the weak glow of the stars. From off in the distance, small flashes of light and faint cracks of gunshot announced the commencement of a new skirmish.

The man's footsteps clicked softly on the cobblestones of the pathway. A black cape that matched the shiny top hat perched on his head billowed from his shoulders; his mask gleamed a ghostly white in the hazy glow of the lamps.

Erik sighed. These nighttime strolls were becoming quite a habit for him, and although they certainly were useful for straightening out thoughts, Erik knew he would have to find a new pastime soon; what with the revolution, the police were out patrolling the streets at all ungodly hours of the night, and Erik knew that he could not be so lucky as to run into Nadir and no one but Nadir.

A shiver of a breeze through the winding alleys whispered a few notes into Erik's ear. Stopping, he drew a small notebook from his coat and sketched down the notes before they could drift away with the breeze. He could almost hear the wistful melody gain the support of the strings, then the entrance of the soft pulse of the woodwinds… It would sound lovely in Christine's voice, he decided, beginning to think up words for a suitable libretto…

A loud bang and the smell of smoke made Erik lift his head and sniff at the musty smell of gunpowder. He pocketed his notebook and was about to move further down the street, when quite suddenly a slight figure darted around the corner and crashed straight into him.

"Damn!" roared Erik, for the impact of this unexpected collision had made his mask fall off. He wheeled on the shivering figure behind him and grabbed the boy by the scruff of his shirt. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he snarled.

"P-p-please, sir," stammered the boy in abject terror, "just passing through here while I deliver a message, sir…"

"Oh, is that so?" sneered Erik. He knew it wasn't very nice of him to make the young fellow tremble so, but he had had a rough day watching Christine and that disgusting Vicomte de Chagny make eyes at each other, and it was such fun to once in a while scare the living daylights out of a person… "What, from the barricades, then?"

"Y-y-yes, sir, from one of the young revolutionaries at the Rue de Villette. I've already been shot at twice on my way here, so please, sir, let me go!"

Erik was about to make the game a bit more fun and step into the lamplight so that the boy could see his horrific face, but just then he heard shouts coming from down the street. Cursing to himself, he stooped down and located his mask, still grasping the boy's arm firmly. "Come with me," he muttered, clamping his mask over his face and dragging the boy after him through the alleyways and shadows.

* * *

When the pair finally stopped, Erik let go of the boy's arm. "There, they shouldn't be able to find you now," said the Phantom, turning on his heel. "This is where I leave you. Good evening."

The boy, to Erik's surprise, ignored him. Not used to this treatment, Erik spun around to see what had attracted his attention instead. The boy was staring with large, dark eyes at the building down the street, the monument lit by floodlights and the sparkle of a hundred crystal chandeliers in the grand entrance hall…

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Erik, pleased to see that this scrawny scrap of a lad could nonetheless appreciate the divinity of art.

"Yes," murmured the urchin dreamily. "Look, they're all leaving now…"

True enough, the doors of the Opéra Garnier had just opened, and out poured a flood of ladies in fine brocade on the arms of gentlemen in top hats and suits. Laughing and gossiping about the production of that night, the elite of Paris boarded their carriages and clattered off to their soft feather beds.

"Fools," muttered the Phantom of the Opera. "I'd bet my soul La Carlotta was flat on the final note of her big aria – she _always_ is."

The boy looked up at Erik curiously. "You go often?" he asked.

Erik started, wondering if he had said too much. "Yes," he replied stiffly.

The urchin sighed. "I've always wanted to," he admitted. " 'Course, could never afford it, but just for once to see the lights and the scenery, and ride a fine carriage and wear a lovely new dress…"

Erik raised an eyebrow in surprise at the lad, who continued to more or less ignore him. A new _dress?_ Erik eyed the boy suspiciously. That voice… a low, raspy one to be sure, but…

"So," snorted Erik, "those cowards at the barricade say they await Death fearlessly in the glory of battle, but in the meantime are content to send little girls out to do their mail service."

The ragged young girl – for that was what she really was – shot a look of apprehension up at the towering man next to her, and let her eyes dart back and forth for a close escape in case he attacked her. "No, sir," she replied calmly, "most wouldn't, that's why I dressed meself up as a boy."

"Most wouldn't." Erik scoffed. "And I suppose this young boy who sent you out had no idea at all you're a girl… not even enough honor to delegate tasks to those who should rightfully have them…"

The girl shot an angry look at Erik. "Now, sir, I can't understand half of what you say - I ain't smart enough, I guess - but I know that Monsieur Marius is one of the most honorable men in the world, and if you're going to insult him, I just won't stand for it, sir!" She crossed her arms and glared defensively at the Phantom.

Erik could not stifle a laugh. Here was some little girl threatening him, the feared Phantom of the Opera, just because he had called some brainless, idealistic schoolboy dishonorable. He had to admire her pluck. But then he stopped. It was obvious that this girl was in love with the boy whose letter she was delivering, and Erik knew all too well the feeling of unrequited love.

"What's your name, then?" he asked the girl.

"Éponine Thénardier," she answered, chin held high.

"And his?"

The girl shuffled her feet. "Whose, sir?"

"You know very well whose." Erik sighed; he hated it when people played stupid. "The boy whose letter you are delivering, the boy whom you are so obviously in love with – who is he, then?"

Éponine suddenly appeared to be very interested in her feet. "His name's Marius, sir." A small smile bent her lips upwards. "Baron Marius Pontmercy."

Erik rolled his eyes – that sounded far too much like Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. Probably another good-looking-but-foppish lad. Éponine didn't notice the eye roll.

A loud gunshot behind the pair made both Opera Ghost and girl jump. Erik looked down at the brash young girl beside him – he did not want to be responsible for her well-being, but he knew he would feel guilty if she was caught and shot by the police. Cursing his kind-hearted nature, Erik sighed impatiently.

"Quick, follow me," he said, darting back into the shadows.

The last of the carriages were pulling out from in front of the Paris Opera, the drowsy doormen nodding off to sleep as the candles in the chandeliers were put out one by one. Erik, again holding Éponine tight by one arm, stole a glance about to make sure no one was watching, and pulled her swiftly through a concealed doorway into the opera house. Down corridor after dark corridor they slipped until, finally, they reached a large lake, its still surface punctured by stalagmites. Erik helped Éponine into a small boat landed at the edge of the lake and slowly began to steer them through the murky waters using a long pole. All was absolutely silent in the cavernous space, except for the drip of water and the lap of the water against the side of the boat.

* * *

Éponine did not realize she had fallen asleep until a sudden bump jolted her awake. Used to life on the street, she sprang fully awake instantaneously, wondering what new wonder she was about to see. When the mysterious man in the cape helped her out of the boat, she gasped. She had not seen such finery since she was a young girl – golden candelabras graced carved wooden tables, scrolls of music were draped over the bench of an imposing pipe organ, dresses made of fine materials lay across a curtained bed. Feeling weak in the knees (whether from amazement or exhaustion, she was not sure), Éponine dropped to the ground, gaping.

"Like it?" asked the masked man, clearly amused. "This is my lair, as I like to call it – my workshop, my theatre, my home."

Éponine stared at him. "Who _are_ you?" she finally managed to croak.

The man bowed slightly, flicking his cape elaborately as he did so. "The fools who run this theatre would call me the Opera Ghost, but I personally prefer the title the Phantom of the Opera… much nicer ring to it, don't you think?" He smirked at Éponine, who realized her jaw was hanging open and closed it. "Now then," he continued, striding over to the bed and examining the dresses laying on it, "I can't very well let you go back out there while all of the fighting is going on, so I'm going to have to ask you to stay here for at least the night."

Éponine found she suddenly had her voice back. "What?!" she asked indignantly.

Erik turned halfway towards her, holding a simple but elegant dress made of deep red silk. "If you leave the opera house, the police circling the area will surely catch and kill you. And, frankly, I'd feel quite bad about that, since you seem like a nice enough young lady. Not only that, but now that I've shown you the way to my lair, if the police catch you and question you, they will most certainly come looking for me and in all probability kill me. So, if you don't mind easing my nerves, I'd appreciate it very much if you'd just stay here. You won't have anyone looking for you, will you?" He suddenly sounded quite worried.

"No…" Éponine smiled humorlessly to herself at the thought of her father looking anxiously about Paris for her. "But this letter," she said urgently. "I must see that Cosette gets it!"

Erik listened in interest… Cosette, was it? Probably some girl that this Marius fellow was in love with… Erik was about to offer to go take care of Cosette with the Punjab lasso for Éponine's sake, but one look at her distressed face made him sigh instead.

"All right, you stay here, promise me, and I'll go deliver your letter for you… I dare say I'm a sight better at being sneaky and discreet at night than you are."

Éponine relaxed noticeably and grinned. "Oh, thank you sir!"

"Don't mention it," Erik grumbled. Clearing his throat, he somewhat awkwardly handed her the dress and steered her to a marble bathroom with a deep tub and fluffy white towels hanging on the wall. "You go wash up in there and put this on while I'm gone, and when I get back I'll teach you a few basics about manners and correct speech so you can impress your baron."

Éponine looked at the Phantom in amazement. "You mean you want me to scrub myself clean and then put _this_ on?" She tentatively ran her fingers over the edge of the edge of the silk in wonder, as if it was too good to be true.

Erik shrugged. "You said you wanted to go to the opera and wear a fine dress, did you not? It's just lucky you're the same size as Christine, more or less."

Éponine was too busy staring hungrily at the dress to wonder who Christine was. "Thank… thank you, sir," she whispered and, with a grin to herself, carefully took the dress from the Phantom and closed the door to the bathroom behind her.

Erik smiled in amusement – this Éponine was so charmingly childish in her wants and needs. He decided that he rather liked her. Humming an aria softly to himself, Erik picked up the letter that Éponine had been carrying and, checking to make sure she was not coming, opened it. The contents were some disgustingly romantic love letter from Marius to Cosette, about how he was sure he was going to die in the battle and he loved her always, and such nonsense. The Phantom snorted, wondering why on earth Éponine had chosen this fellow to fall in love with. He sounded far too much like Raoul for Erik's liking… only Erik could not imagine Raoul heroically dying on a barricade somewhere, so he had to give this Marius fellow some credit for that. Erik frowned. Now _that_ would be a problem, if Marius died on the barricade; he was quite sure that Éponine would be distressed about that. It seemed to Erik that the only logical step in helping Éponine, then, would be to make sure that the love of her life didn't get shot by some royalist bloke in a sharp-looking uniform and hat. Erik scratched his head in irritation. So… to sort out Éponine's unrequited love problems, he would have to get this Cosette girl out of the picture, and also make sure that Marius did not die. Erik sighed – he really did hate unrequited love problems, and trying to solve his own was hard enough…

Having sorted out his priorities, Erik tore the love letter to shreds and threw it into his underground lake, watching in satisfaction as the pieces slowly sank below the dark, murky water. Then, wrapping his cloak tightly around him, he climbed into his boat and began to row.

* * *

The air was positively filled with smoke when Erik reached the Rue de Villette. Waving his hand before his face, he stepped carefully over a few blood-spattered bodies. A battlefield after the war was indeed very depressing, he decided. So many men had died here – there, a young fellow had died with a red flag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, his face set into a hard grimace; there, a handsome man in a dashing red vest laid sprawled across the top of the barricade, almost as if sleeping on the hard wooden boards; there, a uniformed policeman with salt-and-pepper sideburns sat slumped in a chair, hands tied behind his back, blood trickling out of the corner of his scowling mouth. Erik shook his head. And people thought that _his_ occasional homicidal outbreaks were violent…

It was at this point that Erik realized he did not know which of these young men was Marius – he hoped that the man he was looking for was not one of the dead ones he had seen. Just as he was about to turn and leave in frustration, he heard a low groan from one side of the barricade, and saw the twitch of a hand. Hoping against all hope, the Phantom leapt to where he had seen the movement and came across the body of a young man with a handsome and slightly foppish face. The youth was bleeding profusely from a leg wound, but was nonetheless breathing shallowly. Erik rolled him onto his back, and as he did so, a small card fell out of the man's pocket. In the light that the full moon cast through the haze of the artillery smoke, Erik could just make out the words "Baron Marius Pontmercy." The Phantom's breath caught in his throat at his good luck – the man had a whole pocket full of these calling cards, which meant that he was beyond a doubt the man whom Éponine loved. Praising whatever higher powers there were, the Phantom carefully lifted the young revolutionary and, marveling at how light the boy was, carried him away from the carnage of the battle.

* * *

When Marius opened his eyes, the first thing his eyes saw when they came into focus was the smiling face of a beautiful young woman in a dark red silk dress, whose hair fell in gentle ringlets past her shoulders. For some reason, she seemed strangely familiar… Marius blinked.

"Éponine?" he whispered softly, reaching out a hand for her face.

"Shh…" she whispered, gently smoothing a sweaty lock of Marius's hair down. "It's all right, Marius, you're safe."

"I thought you were dead." Marius sighed with relief. "I was so afraid you had gotten shot that last night I saw you, and I thought to myself that if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself… I should have just sent you away, not off to do errands for me…"

He missed the look of elation on her face. "Don't you fret, Monsieur Marius," she said comfortingly to him, laying her hand on top of his. "It's all in the past now."

Marius closed his eyes, trying to remember something, anything, that had happened at the barricade. There were gunshots, he remembered that much, but had anyone died…? Suddenly, the image of Gavroche singing defiantly as the soldiers shot him again and again flashed through his mind; then Enjolras, shouting passionately as he brandished his rifle in the air at the top of the barricade, only to collapse in a pile of ruined glory; then, all around him, one by one, his friends falling as the bullets cut their lives short – Combeferre, Feuilly, Courfeyrac…

"No…" he moaned, clutching Éponine's hand in desperation. "God, no… Éponine, they're all dead, aren't they?" He tried to sit up, arms flailing wildly. "All my friends… all of them… 'Ponine, they're all gone, aren't they?"

Marius was sobbing with abandon by this point, shaking his head as though that would erase the memories of his fellow students, laughing in their classes, toasting General Lamarque in the ABC Café, sitting grimly behind the barricade loading their muskets and trying not to let the others see the fear in their eyes… Éponine leaned forward and took him in her arms, rocking gently back and forth and whispering comforting words in his ear, and smelling the salty, smoky scent of his wavy hair.

"Don't leave me, 'Ponine," Marius whispered, hugging her close to him. "Everyone else has, and I'm all alone… promise me you'll never leave?"

"It's going to be all right, Marius," she whispered to him. "I'll take care of you. I'll never leave you. I promise."

* * *

Cosette glanced uncertainly into the marble foyer of the Opéra Garnier, wondering if she should wait for Marius or go straight to her seat. She could not see him anywhere, but then there were so many people! She was sure that even if Papa discovered she had stolen out of the house that night, and somehow discovered where she had gone, even he would not be able to find her amidst the hundreds of swirling dresses and glittering jewels. Cosette could almost feel herself flush with excitement – here she was, about to meet her dashing Marius Pontmercy for only the second time at his request, and watch the Paris Opera from his box seat!

A uniformed man appeared at the top of the sweeping marble staircase, calling for everyone to find their seats. The rumbling of the assembled throngs escalated as the opera-goers filed slowly into the theatre, excitedly discussing the upcoming opera. Cosette, confused, pulled an envelope lined in black out of her pocket, and opened it. Blushing slightly, she reread the words written in scarlet ink that she had already read so many times she had memorized them:

_Dearest Cosette, my angel, I am desperate to see you again. If you love me, meet me tonight at the Opéra Garnier. I must ask that you do not tell your father about our meeting – I do not know if he would approve of me yet. Should you accept this invitation, I will be sitting in Box Five, where I hope you will join me. Eternally yours, Marius._

Having decided that Marius was probably already up in the box, Cosette folded the letter, tucked it into her valise, made sure that her midnight blue dress was not creased, and ascended the stairwell to the box seats.

The lights had just dimmed when Cosette reached her seat, but she could nonetheless see the outline of a man seated in one of the two chairs silhouetted against the dim lights from the orchestra pit. Smiling shyly, she took the other seat in the box and waited nervously for the opera to begin…

By intermission, Cosette was awash with emotion; she was following the plot of the opera with rapt attention and getting completely caught up in the personal problems of the characters; and she was eager to talk to Marius again. When the lights came on, she turned eagerly toward the man who was sharing her box… only to gasp with surprise.

It was not Marius seated next to her at all, but another well-dressed, dashing young man with a handsome face and the most beautiful blue eyes Cosette had ever seen (like waves, she thought to herself). He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

" _Bonsoir_ , Mademoiselle," the man said with a small bow. Cosette, who was caught completely off her guard, stammered a hasty greeting and wondered where on earth Marius was.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur," she said, blushing, "but I had thought that a young man by the name of Marius Pontmercy was supposed to be sitting here in this box tonight."

The young man looked startled. "Are you quite sure?" he asked. "You see, the managers usually don't leave this box open for the public to sit in, and I was only sitting there because…" The young man glanced about him, and leaned forward conspiratorially with a broad grin (Cosette could not help but notice that he had lovely straight teeth). "They say that a horribly deformed man, a phantom of sorts, haunts this opera house, and that this is his box and his alone; all others who sit here without his permission face a certain and painful death."

Cosette gasped. "It's not true, is it?"

The man laughed confidently. "Of course it's not true – that's why I'm sitting up here tonight, to prove to the world that nothing will happen to me, and the so-called Phantom of the Opera does not exist." Smiling warmly, he put out a hand. "I just realized I haven't even had the courtesy to introduce myself – Vicomte Raoul de Chagny."

Cosette took his hand with another blush. "I'm Cosette," she answered shyly.

"Pleased to meet you." Raoul gently brushed his lips over her hand; Cosette gave an inaudible gasp at the warmth that had suddenly seeped from where he had kissed her throughout her body. She smiled charmingly, feeling a bit disoriented, and stared out across the theatre. Suddenly, she shrieked.

"What is it?" asked Raoul in alarm.

Cosette pointed up towards the rafters of the opera house with a trembling finger. "I… I just thought I saw a man, up there…" she stuttered.

Raoul laughed kindly. "Probably just old Joseph Buquet, one of the stagehands," he explained to her, taking her hand and gently pulling it back into the box. She looked at him with feigned surliness.

"Now look, Vicomte," she scolded him, "you've gotten me all frightened with your stories about this Phantom! I shan't be able to enjoy myself for the rest of the evening for fear of a most unpleasant death."

Raoul could not help but stare – this Cosette seated next to him was stunning enough as it was, but when she pouted like that, poking her lower lip out just a bit further than her upper, she was absolutely tantalizing. Still staring, he took her hand again.

"Nothing to fear," he reassured her, hoping he was not about to say anything too stupid. She gave him a small smile, and he grinned back reassuringly.

Even after the curtain had gone back up, even after the big arias had been sung and the audience burst into applause, even when Carlotta, the leading lady of the opera, came forward to bow, even when a small ensemble member by the name of Christine Daaé made her entrance and did her silent part perfectly, Cosette's hand remained clasped in Raoul's. By the time the lights came back on, Cosette had completely forgotten that she had come to the opera to meet a boy named Marius, and Raoul had completely forgotten that he had come to the opera to applaud a young girl named Christine with whom he used to play as a child.

Cosette smiled haltingly at Raoul as they stood up in the box. "It was a pleasure meeting you tonight, Vicomte," she said, curtseying slightly. "I am very sorry I came and sat in your box without your permission."

Raoul exhaled slowly as she let go of his hand and turned to exit the box. "Please," he said to her retreating back, "call me Raoul. And I'm terribly sorry that I frightened you earlier."

Cosette stopped and turned back. "Oh, it was no trouble," she said with a coy laugh. "As you can see, we haven't been killed yet." She shivered. Raoul stepped forward and draped his cloak over her shoulders.

"Here, I'll walk you to your carriage." As the pair walked out of the box and back down the elegant staircase, Raoul said to Cosette, "Mademoiselle Cosette, I hope I don't seem too bold, but would you care to join me next Tuesday at the opera? I happen to have an extra ticket for the new production of _Roméo et Juliette_ …"

Cosette flushed, smiling adoringly at the young vicomte. "I would be more than happy to… Raoul."

* * *

From his vantage point, Erik grinned with amusement as Raoul helped Cosette into a carriage, plucking the rose from his lapel and handing it to her through the carriage window before kissing her hand a final time and leaving. It was truly funny how fickle these foppish types were – Erik had had more than just a good time watching Cosette and Raoul fall head over heels for each other over the course of half an evening. Everything in their lives seemed so artificial, with no higher ideals, no true love for anything other than themselves – Erik shook his head at how pitifully sad their sheltered and boring existences were.

He had to congratulate himself, though, on how smoothly and perfectly everything had worked out – Cosette had not doubted for a minute that the letter he had written and delivered to her house was from Marius, and Raoul and the managers had jumped to act in the most defiant manner they could think of when he had written to them demanding that Box Five be left opened for him… just as he had hoped. Erik applauded himself silently for having killed two birds with one stone, so to speak. He was a bit disappointed, though, that he had not had the chance to make Carlotta croak on stage (she had done, as always, a terrible job, and it would have been most amusing), or the chance to kill Buquet (that buffoon was always almost catching Erik, and Erik was beginning to tire of the man's obsessive curiosity), or the chance to prove to the foppish Vicomte de Chaigny that opera ghosts really DO exist… but any of these would have completely ruined the evening for Cosette and Raoul, and Erik had not wanted to risk anything that would distract them from each other. There was always the next performance to do the rest… or, at least, the former two, since the stupid vicomte had to live if he wanted Cosette to stay nice and distracted. Erik sighed in satisfaction. Then he remembered that Raoul had promised to meet Christine for dinner, and he was sure she would be distraught that he had oh-so-carelessly forgotten about her… Grinning to himself, Erik rushed off to find her.

* * *

"How _could_ he have forgotten, Erik?" wailed Christine. She threw herself melodramatically into the chair before the mirror in her dressing room and sobbed onto the makeup counter. Erik leaned over from behind her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Christine…" Erik gave a mock sigh of sorrow. "I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but the young Vicomte de Chagny was seen escorting a different young lady out of the opera house tonight."

Christine looked up wildly at Erik's reflection in the mirror. "But he _couldn't_ , Erik, he just couldn't!" she insisted. "He said he loved me, he said he would take me out to dinner after the performance tonight…" She crossed her arms and bit her lip in frustration.

"Ah, men," sighed Erik. "Never constant to anything, I'm afraid… especially the handsome, rich ones who can have anything and everything they want." He leaned over to whisper in Christine's ear. "Let him go, Christine, and find someone who loves you for who you truly are."

Christine turned to look back at her voice teacher, wide-eyed. "Do you think such a person could really exist?" she asked miserably.

Erik wrapped his arms about her. "I'm certain," he whispered. "Now, Mlle Daaé, as you appear to have no previous engagements for dinner, would you perhaps be willing to go to supper with _me_?"

Christine giggled shakily. "Maestro, your wish is my command."

* * *

By the time Marius was recovered enough to walk, Éponine had, after many coaching sessions with Erik, transformed into a true lady, filled with poise and grace. Her table manners were impeccable, and her speech and conversation were lively but still very proper. Every day, for hours at a time, she read out loud to Marius to practice her reading, and he gladly helped her with words she did not know how to pronounce. It was the best time of day for both of them; Marius was, as he always had been, the most perfect being ever created in Éponine's eyes, and caring for him was to her an unimaginable honor rather than a task; but Marius too had fallen more and more in love every day with the beautiful, sensitive girl who carried on such interesting discussions with him, and who seemed to grow farther with each minute from the ragged, thieving wraith of a being he first encountered on the streets of Paris. Only once in a rare while did Marius think of Cosette, but if he did, it was to wonder if she ever did leave for England, or to wonder if she ever would have been able to understand him the way that Éponine seemed to be able to.

It had taken Christine a full three weeks to recover from Raoul's betrayal, during which she refused to sing or to go to rehearsals. Instead, she insisted on hiding out in Erik's lair, staring morosely at the wall as the Phantom banged on his organ in frustration. Finally, more to exact revenge upon Raoul than anything else, Christine announced to Erik that she was ready to go and conquer the opera world without the help of a rich suitor, and Erik was only happy to assist her. Over the next few days, they worked furiously on each of the arias Carlotta was to perform in her next role; and on the opening night of the new production, Erik finally had the pleasure of making Carlotta croak long and loud for quite some time before she ran out of the Opéra Garnier in disgrace, and he demanded in a thundering voice that Christine take over for Carlotta. The managers, to his great amusement, were absolutely petrified, and immediately complied with this order. Erik was in such a good mood that, even though he had a perfectly good opportunity to kill Joseph Buquet once and for all, he decided not to – it was, after all, Christine's big night, and he did not want to spoil it with any unnecessary homicides.

When Christine and Erik returned to the lair that night, they both had had a bit too much champagne to drink. Éponine had been sitting on the edge of Marius's bed, watching him sleep and humming "Vedrai, carino" (an aria she had heard Christine practicing the day before) softly to herself when she heard the loud voices of the others approaching.

"Shh! He's sleeping!" she admonished her host, ducking out from behind the curtains of the bed.

Erik hiccupped. "Sorry," he muttered, "but, 'Ponine, you should have heard Christine tonight!"

"How did it go?" asked Éponine, knowing it was what Erik wanted her to ask.

"Splendid!" roared Erik, lifting Christine in the air and twirling her as she shrieked and giggled. "She sounded like an angel of music… like sunshine glistening off the Seine in the early hours of the waking dawn…"

Éponine was trying her hardest not to laugh – it was rather amusing to watch a drunken artist try to be artistic. "Did she, now?"

"Oh, yes, she did…" Erik's voice drifted off, and he slowly kissed Christine. Éponine looked away in embarrassment. "I'd do anything for you, Christine," murmured Erik softly.

"I know," she replied. "Erik… take off your mask. I want to see your face again."

"What?" interrupted Éponine, shocked that Christine would even suggest such a thing when Erik was obviously so sensitive about his deformity. But Erik, still looking at Christine, held up a hand to silence Éponine.

"Would you still want to kiss me, even with my mask off?" he asked Christine seriously.

Christine smiled up at him and took the edge of the mask in her fingers. "You are my Angel of Music, Erik," she said softly. "I would love you no matter how you looked." She pulled off Erik's mask – Éponine winced as she saw for the first time the painful distortions his face had been pulled into, but she did not faint, as she had seen faces just as bad out on the street. Christine, however, seemed completely unaffected. "Oh, Erik," she sighed, "let's get married." And she began kissing him again.

Éponine was so startled by the whole situation that she did not hear Marius limp up behind her. "What's going on here?" he asked in bewilderment, throwing an arm over Éponine's shoulders to balance himself.

"No idea." Éponine forced herself to stop gawking. "I think Christine just asked Erik to marry her."

"What?" Marius laughed. "She seems a bit drunk, you don't think she's serious, do you?"

Éponine shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was," she answered truthfully.

Marius cast a last amused look towards Christine and Erik, who seemed quite oblivious to the rest of the world. "Come on, let's give them a bit of privacy."

The two walked to the edge of the lair, and watched the light of the candelabras glitter off the surface of the almost perfectly-still lake. Finally, Éponine took a deep breath.

"So, Erik told me that Cosette is getting married."

Marius looked startled. "Is she now?" he asked with interest.

Éponine nodded. "It's apparently been all over the tabloids – she is all set up to marry Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny."

"Raoul?" Marius scratched his chin with a thoughtful frown. "Isn't he the fellow whom Christine just spent the last month or so pining for?"

Éponine shrugged. "I assume so." She paused. "You're taking it rather well."

It was Marius's turn to shrug. "I suppose it doesn't matter much to me any more. When I first began to… well, follow Cosette on her walks about the park with her father, I was a young and impulsive boy with fantasies about love. But now… 'Ponine, I don't think she'd understand so much of what I now understand. She's still a child – how could she understand how it felt to watch each of my friends be cut down in a bang of smoke…?" His voice broke. Éponine took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Sorry," he continued. "Anyway, I just have problems believing I could look at her in the same way that I used to, after everything that's happened to me."

Éponine nodded, her heart pounding rather quickly. "That makes sense," she conceded.

"And what about you, 'Ponine?" Marius meant to make it sound like he was teasing, but he was much too anxious to hear what her response would be. "You've been so kind in caring for me, but once you go back above the ground, what do you plan on doing? Is there… anyone you might go looking for, besides your father, that is."

Éponine snorted in a most unladylike way. "My father," she said dryly. "I'm sure he's already forgotten I even exist. He probably thinks I'm dead." She turned to look Marius straight in the eyes. "No, Marius, I don't know what I want to do with my life, but you can rest assured it will not involve crime."

Marius smiled nervously, and willed himself to speak his mind. "Éponine, I was thinking, even with Cosette engaged, I should probably get married myself once I am fully recovered… settle down, start a family, all that. I need to forget about all these ghosts that keep haunting me…" He ran his hand distractedly through his wavy hair, staring out across the lake at the phantoms from the barricade that only he could see.

"That would be lovely. You'll make a fine husband. I can tell." Éponine knew he would probably find some gorgeous noblewoman who would sweep him off his feet – as much as she loved him, she could not keep her hopes up. But, even if she could not hope that he would have her, Éponine wanted Marius to know how she felt. She gave him an awkward grin. "And, you know, Monsieur Marius, I think I might have been just a little bit in love with you." She turned away embarrassed.

Marius felt his breath catch in his chest. Tenderly, he put his hand beneath Éponine's chin and lifted her wistful face towards his. "That's wonderful," he whispered, and kissed her.


End file.
